


Cultural Studies

by plaktow



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff and Humor, KiScon 2017, M/M, Vulcan Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaktow/pseuds/plaktow
Summary: Spock immerses himself into the study of pre-Surakian culture, which has a greater impact on him than he ever expected. After a thorough research Bones and Jim come up with a solution to help him - the only problem being that their diagnosis is completely, utterly off.Written for the one and only KiSCon 2017. Thousand thanks to Amanda for her support and improvement suggestions! As always, all mistakes are my own.





	Cultural Studies

Spock sat absolutely still. Only his eyes moved as he read on. The light of the screen painted strong shadows on his face and bathed the rest of the cabin in mellow, yellowish tones. The only sound was the buzz of the workstation and the quiet, almost inaudible hum of the engines. Spock seemed the image of calm concentration.

"Computer," Spock requested, "are there any older references in the Starfleet Database to the advantages of reducing emotional control?"

The computer took its time to run new searches before announcing its judgement: "Negative."

Spock pursed his lips. "Establish connection to the Vulcan Science Academy. Cross-reference with the main cultural database. Sort results by date. Keywords: Pre-Surakian, emotions, control."

"Estimated time to complete..." began the computer and stopped while lights on the screen were blinking fervently. "...51 hours 15 minutes."

"Acknowledged," Spock confirmed. His fingers, curled in a tight fist around a crease on his uniform trousers, relaxed and revealed a small tear in the black fabric.

* * *

Jim lifted one foot on the captain’s chair and only barely managed to hide a yawn behind his fist. The Enterprise was on the third year of its noble mission to search for new life and civilization, but lately all they had found were ways to avoid getting bored to death.

"Okay, I have a good one," announced Sulu and stretched his hands above his head. He was leaning back in his chair and only occasionally glancing at the controls of the helm. It was not negligence, Jim knew: Sulu was experienced, and could tell trouble almost before the sensors showed anything.

"Okay. Male?" Jim began the old game. Lacking a console to play with, he had been staring at the ceiling in the hopes of seeing strange new life in the form of a bug on its way to where no bug had gone before, but to no success. So far his only discovery was that there were 74 tiles on the ceiling of the bridge.

"Yes."

"Fictional?" asked Chekov.

"Yes," Sulu confirmed. His boyish grin could have melted the hearts of women, if he had had any interest in the opposite sex. As it was, his interest was the Enterprise, and that suited Jim very well.

"Human?" checked Scotty smartly. Jim smiled – yesterday it had taken the crew ages to guess the horta, a silicon-based lifeform from Janus IV.

Before any answer was given, Spock, who had been crouched over his science station, straightened his back and stood up. "Captain, as your first officer it is my duty to inform you that the discipline on the bridge has grown weak. This is a Federation starship. We must uphold the proper order at all times."

Several pairs of eyes were now swiveling from Spock to Jim. Spock was standing with his hands behind his back, while Jim looked more like a lazy cat on a recliner chair. The captain laughed softly.

"Well now, Mr. Spock, are you actually developing a sense of humor? I almost—"

"Captain, this is a serious matter. While wearing that uniform," Spock nodded pointedly at Jim’s direction," you represent the Federation and the races belonging to the Federation. Is this how you represent Vulcan? Is this how you represent Earth: with riddles and games?"

The tall First officer stepped down from his console, his steps booming in the suddenly quiet bridge as he stormed to the Captain. Jim stayed still despite the looming Vulcan. Spock had barely opened his mouth when Jim cut him short.

"To your station, Commander," Jim said quietly.

As if frozen by the ice in Jim’s voice, Spock stopped mid-step. Jim saw the fire die behind the dark eyes and the anger turning to uncertainty.

A quiet squeak broke the silence as Scotty turned around on his chair, mumbled something about spanners and conduits and almost ran to the turbolift. Sulu and Chekov stared at his retreating back with envy. Uhura turned back to her console, fussing with her hair as if nothing had happened.

Only Jim himself still slouched in his previous position. Like a panther following his prey, he watched as Spock slowly turned around and returned to his place. Still he waited for some minutes until the tension had dissipated before following Spock to the science station.

"Spock, report to my quarters after shift."

‘After shift’ had seemed so close when Jim had given his order, but now, several hours later, it seemed as distant as their last interesting assignment. After re-checking that the number of tiles on the ceiling was indeed 74 and that by pressing the buttons on his armrest in the correct order he could play the beginning of Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmuzik, Spock’s earlier behavior didn’t seem so important anymore. Everyone gets tense sometimes. No big deal. All he needed now, and all Spock would need, was a good night’s sleep. And that was what he said to Spock too, after a half-hearted reminder of proper conduct.

It would all be better in the morning.

* * *

The following morning Jim woke up feeling refreshed. As he had assumed, all was good: he felt good, he certainly looked good and, after dabbing on a bit of cologne, he smelled good too. On some days it was just awesome to be James Tiberius Kirk.

In the turbolift Jim didn’t even try to protest when Bones and Nurse Chapel surrounded him and walked with him to the sickbay for his medical. After all, they were only doing their job. Bones was a good man, and Nurse Chapel was certainly a stunning beauty – what better company to spend your morning with? And in any case working out in the sickbay was far more interesting than staring at the dark view screen on the bridge.

"50, 51, 52, 53…" Jim counted under his breath. He was kicking back weights that kept falling against his legs, while the computer monitored his vitals. 230 kicks in two minutes was his usual score, and he intended to be a bit quicker this time.

"99, 100, 101…"

When the medical med beeped to sign that two minutes were up, Bones barely glanced at the results. "Jim, we need to talk."

Jim was wiping sweat from his face and ignoring Bones. The results would be the same as every time. Jim should lose a bit of weight, but his physical condition was excellent, and out of jealousy the good old doctor would put Jim on a diet which he would not follow. Bones was envious of Jim’s hard, beautiful muscles and tight abs. It wasn’t Jim’s fault if the uniform made him look… blorpy.

"What’s that about?" the captain asked and pointed at two young ensigns, who were being attended to by nurse Chapel. The fronts of their blue uniforms were dark red with blood. Maybe Spock was right about the discipline - fights between crewmen were certainly not good. "Were they fighting?"

"It’s worse than that, Jim," Bones replied with the endless patience of a man used to being ignored. "They came in a minute ago and claimed that Spock hit them. Apparently those two had delivered unanalyzed scan results. The next thing they knew they were slumping on the floor with bloody – Jim? Where are you going? Jim! Your physical is … Jim? Jim!"

Luckily for him, Jim did not hear the rest of Bones’s irritated monologue. The captain stormed through the grey and red corridors. This was going too far. Spock was going too far. Unable to find him in the science lab, Jim was practically fuming as he entered Spock’s quarters without as much as knocking.

"Spock? What’s going on?" Kirk demanded. "Did you assault two crewmen?"

Spock sat calmly on the floor reading an old tome. Jim could not read Golic Vulcan, but he recognized the language from the intricate markings on the tome and on the papers all around Spock. The brown eyes of the Vulcan turned from the tomes towards him. In the dim light Spock seemed almost ethereal.

"Captain?" Spock asked. Nothing more, just that one word in that soft, kind voice. Spock blinked, and for a while the light in the room disappeared entirely as the beautiful eyes were closed.

Kirk swallowed. He struggled to hold on to his anger as the soft scent from the meditation lamp wafted around him. With some self-discipline he managed to repeat his question.

Spock stood up. "No, I did not. They were punished for unacceptable and careless behavior. Will you punish me too? What would you like to use – your hands, or perhaps a whip, like humans did in the old times?"

Jim stared at Spock, disbelieving. This was not going according to his plan. And it did not get better when Spock stepped even closer.

"Tell me, Captain," Spock whispered, "did you seek me for assistance…?"

His husky voice was even deeper than usual, and the light in his eyes was something else entirely than a reflection from the small lamp. A tight knot in Jim’s middle, or slightly lower, made it hard from him to breathe. The scent of sweet incense seemed to fuddle his brain.

"…or for pleasure?"

Jim struggled to remember why he had come. The word "come" combined with the presence of Spock suddenly got a whole new meaning in his mind. He stared at Spock. He may no longer have been aware of why he was there, but he was very aware of what Spock’s Starfleet uniform did not hide. The long, elegant neck, the strength of the shoulders… the small but visible bulge in the nether regions…

Spock took a slow step towards him, close enough for Jim to feel the sparks bouncing between them.

"If it is pleasure you seek..."

Inside Jim’s brain, a small group of cells started to dance wildly to a primal, animalistic tune. His sense fought against it, fought the needs and the urges that were surfacing faster and growing stronger every second. The soundless beat filled the room, inviting Jim and Spock to a carnal dance.

Jim started moving towards Spock, almost panting, but was harshly interrupted as a shrill whistle sounded through the room.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk," came Uhura’s voice from the nearby comm.

Spock leaned towards Jim and placed his hand on the comm system behind him. He could feel the warmth of Spock’s breath on his skin, and hear the quiet rustle as their uniforms brushed against each other. The Vulcan needed only to whisper in a breathy voice to be heard.

"Shall I disconnect the comm… Jim?"

Jim stared into the brown eyes. There was no logic behind the dark orbs – only a raging inferno of desire. Something was not right… none of this was right!

Without conscious thought Jim ducked, rolled under Spock’s arm and hurried out of the room too fast to see the amused smile on Spock’s face.

* * *

Kirk discovered that within minutes of Spock assaulting two crewmen, the rumors had sprouted and spread faster than wildfire. Spock was severely ill, said some. No, he was poisoned during an away mission, said others. No, it was caused by an unknown alien organism hiding in Spock’s cells like a virus. Whatever the alleged reason, the crew was genuinely worried about Spock. The only Vulcan on the ship had always been the epitome of health and excellent physique.

To regain control of the situation the captain held a quick meeting with his other senior officers. It was quickly confirmed that no one else had presented similar symptoms, but to be on the safe side, sickbay would stand on full readiness to treat an epidemic. Just as quickly they all agreed that despite the severity of Spock’s actions, the legal proceedings would be postponed until Spock was in a more manageable mood. By a unanimous agreement, Spock was temporarily confined to his quarters (under strict monitoring) until Bones would find even a clue on where to start with the tests and examinations to find what was the matter. As it was, they did not have a clue. "Nothing to worry about," they all told their seconds to ease the gossiping and their own fears, "he just needs to rest. It’s the Vulcan man-flu."

After that all Kirk had to do was wait for the fires to die down. Soon after the meeting Kirk overheard two scientists chat about how flu-viruses eradicated from Earth could still infect other humanoids, and how different the symptoms were on Vulcans. After twenty minutes he found himself explaining to a motherly crewman that chicken soup, while certainly tasty, would not help in this case as Spock was a vegetarian. It did, however, remind him that he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

Even with his empty stomach, Jim paid Spock a visit. The science officer was lying on his bed, apparently asleep. Jim smiled, commanded the computer to dim the lights and left him to get a late breakfast.

In the canteen Jim was joined by Bones, who had been working hard since the meeting. He chewed on something that was supposed to taste like ham. It didn’t.

"The medical records were not very helpful," Bones admitted. "But there were short mentions of similar cases. Forum discussions. Footnotes. Sparse test results and theories by non-Vulcans."

Forum discussions? Then again, he had seen enough to know something was off with Spock.

From what Bones was telling him, Spock was indeed ill, but the medical details escaped Kirk. Endocrine system was definitely not a part of Enterprise, and he doubted that ribonucleic acids were very tasty. The bits related to sex drive and testosterone he comprehended very well. It only made sense that Spock would have them, however little he seemed to have use for either. However, at the mention of violence and bloodlust his amusement began to die down.

"What did you call this condition? Poen fah?" he asked while chewing on low-carb bread covered in green blocks of vegetable paste. They still reminded him of wooden blocks.

Bones nodded. His plate was still full and untouched.

"Pon farr. Without medical checks, I can’t be sure, and without proper references I still could only make a guess. Blazes, Jim, look at his behavior! It all fits with the sparse references I could find. It’s specific to Vulcans: we’ve already confirmed that no one else is affected. Patients also seem to have a tendency for violence, and Spock’s already hit two ensigns. He even shouted on the bridge! Sorry," he finished as Jim hissed at him. Heads were starting to turn in their direction.

"I don’t know much about the condition," Bones continued in a more hushed tone. "During a pon farr episode Vulcan males seem to go into an agitated state of mind."

"Agitated, how? Is it contagious?"

Bones glanced around him and leaned forward. "Apparently it only affects Vulcan males. The amount of testosterone precursors is high. There’s an excess of Sertoli cells, but still the inhibitors -"

"In Federation standard, please," Jim grunted.

Bones sighed. "The patients… They’re like teenage boys. Similar changes happen, but on an unimaginable scale. Don’t smirk! This teenager has the strength. and probably the needs of three men too."

Jim dropped his fork. "Your medical diagnosis is that Spock is horny?"

Quiet giggles from the neighboring tables made the doctor roll his eyes. Rumor control, indeed.

"Yes," Bones confirmed. "But if he clings on to that Vulcan mental control of his instead of doing what he naturally should at this time…."

"And by that you mean he should… you know… the birds and the bees…?"

Bones sighed. "Masturbate or have sex. Yes."

"But he hit two people!" Jim hissed angrily.

"From what you’ve told me, Jim, you hit more than two during your teenage years."

Jim almost leaped up from his chair. "Yes, but I’m not a Vulcan who needs to get laid!"

The canteen went dead still. Jim coughed. "And neither is our patient," he said loudly. "Definitely not."

Bones slammed his hand over his face, in an exaggerated facepalm. "I’ll just bring you the documents I found. Read them. Doctor’s orders. "

* * *

Hours later Kirk was done with the materials Bones had given him. He now stood facing the door to Spock’s quarters, while behind him an annoyed cadet was cleaning up the remainders of Spock’s dinner from the wall. The Vulcan had clearly not appreciated whatever Bones had arranged for him. Jim kicked a blue block of berry-flavored protein-paste out of his way.

Muffled sounds were coming from within the quarters. It sounded like someone was beating a wall. It reminded Jim of something in Bones’ reports, which based on the quality of the translation from Vulcan must have originally been in a bad condition.

"Help PLEASE going CRZY??!! My Vulcan classmate is being weirdddd. He is cute as f*ck, but, he’s been snapping at like everything and everyone. He was even beating the walls of the classroom lol. His sister eyeballed me and said they don’t talk about it?! I was like bitch please, he is like literally DYING! She said he’ll be taken to Vulcan. Will he be okay to be my prince at the junior ball bcuz I don’t wanna go with Jackson he’s fugly!"

Jim simply knew that Spock would not die, literally or otherwise. If not for any other reason than because James T. Kirk would not watch Bones crouch over Spock, point a tricorder at him and then announce in that holier-than-thou tone, "He’s dead, Jim."

Jim steeled himself. He was simply visiting a sick crewman. Instead of vitamins, his patient apparently needed sex, but a sickness was a sickness and he would deal with this professionally. Kirk stepped inside.

The old scrolls still covered the floor. Several scribbles had been made on the sides in Spock’s neat handwriting. What stole Jim’s attention was his Science Officer, who stood in the middle of the cabin wearing only his trousers. His chest was glistening with sweat and he was breathing heavily. The bulkhead behind him had several visible dents the size of Spock’s fists.

The predatory look on Spock’s face reminded Jim of another report he had received from Bones, an old video from Earth. An old, friendly man named Attenborough (or something similar) had been explaining about the rituals rumored to be connected to the barely-known Vulcan mating frenzy in a hypnotic tone.

"The area has been carefully prepared for the display of strength. As in many other humanoid species, it is the female who is dressed to impress. Her marvelous dress and careful makeup are a magnificent sight, but the male seems to ignore the female. He has eyes only for the other male in sight - the tall and strong challenger is a worthy opponent. And so the fight begins."

Like the desert in the video, Spock’s room was hot. It was not just because of the tall Vulcan, whose muscles were glistening with sweat. Jim kept his eyes strictly on Spock’s face. He would not look at the muscular chest or the soft, black fur which ran all the way down to the navel and—

Jim coughed and with some effort dragged his mind out of the gutter.

"Spock, I... it’s … it’s okay. I understand your condition."

Spock wiped his sweaty face with a towel and walked calmly to his captain. Jim found himself backing away until his legs bumped against the small bed, and he more fell than sat down.

"I don’t know how you deal with it usually, the documents were not that clear on the specifics. Not that I need to know either. It’s personal, of course. Whatever flies your shuttle. But if you need any videos or photos to assist you to….to release tensions…"

Jim faltered. How do you ask your Vulcan first officer if the ship has enough adult entertainment for him? Managing sexual health was actually Bones’ turf, but the doctor had threatened to resign if he had to face Spock in his current condition. If anyone asks me what I did today, I will lie, Jim decided. This is not happening. I am not sitting here checking if Spock knows how to spank his monkey. I am definitely not asking if he needs someone else to tame his one-eyed snake.

Spock’s breathing was already calmer. "My condition?" he asked and only now seemed to see the papers, PADDs and scribbles covering his rooms. His wandering gaze took in the dents on the bulkheads. "Ah, yes. Understood, captain."

Suddenly Jim noticed the musky smell in the room, a masculine scent which wafted from Spock’s direction. Like the smell after good, hard, rough sex, suggested Jim’s brain. Balls beating against his ass cheeks, nails scratching his back, sweat running down the face... Do you think those ears are erogenous zones?

Spock only arched one eyebrow at his captain, who was squirming on the bed but not saying a word. Damn it, Jim thought. I am a Starfleet Captain. I do what I must to take care of the health of my officers. Spock’s ill. This is nothing more than making sure a patient has what they need to recover from any other illness.

"Look," Jim began. "You just relax and use your imagination. Lie down, maybe grab a video or a magazine. Just start touching yourself where it feels the best. Nipples, maybe, or just grab your crotch and—"

Suddenly it dawned on Jim that Spock had said something. "Sorry?"

Spock stared at his captain. "As I said, there are mentions of older recordings. But they are not freely available. Due to the sensitive content this material is restricted. Perhaps you can contact the Vulcan Science Academy and request it?"

It was Jim’s turn to stare. "The Science academy studies it?"

"Correct."

"And the ...material … is so sensitive they only allow specific persons to see it? You have to ask for permission for that?" Jim shuddered. He had seen his share of sensitive and downright weird porn, but nothing worth academic studies. Well, perhaps in some cases a physician might have been interested in seeing how far the human body can stretch, but this was different.

"Correct. The recordings of older Vulcans are often kept away from public usage."

Jim groaned and shook his head to lose the mental image of old Vulcans getting jiggy with it. How very Vulcan to turn jerking off into a science! Jerkology, taught by a professor of Applied Masturbation. Calculate the energy used if Spock jacks off twice a week for a year. What kind of sock has the best friction/smoothness ratio?

Jim looked up at his tall officer and dug deep within himself to find the last shreds of casualness and dignity. He was about to 1) contact the Vulcan Science Academy for some really sick porn which hopefully would 2) put Spock into a jerk-off rampage, and 3) cure him of this possible pon farr.

As far as Jim was concerned, this was starting to be pon way too far.

* * *

The following day after his shift and a visit to the gym, Kirk paid Spock another visit. For the first time in a few days the Vulcan had requested to speak with the captain. Jim grunted on every step: he was still sore from the gym. Hurting physically, and bruised mentally after a young crewman had beaten him twice in mock-combat.

"My actions recently have been illogical and uncontrolled," Spock began. He stood rigidly, almost at attention. "I can assure you that I am better in control now. My further studies into pre-Surakian times and culture will be … less eventful. Reading the old scriptures affected me more strongly than anticipated. I fully accept all responsibility and repercussions for my actions."

"Eventful?" Jim growled, slammed his palm against the bulkhead and winced as a tortured muscle cramped. Worry and fear over Spock turned to desperate anger in Jim’s voice. Kirk managed to tower over the Vulcan, his anger overriding any and all pains he had. Every single muscle in his body, hurting as they were, was tensed. Jim was a viper ready to bite.

"Control? You hit two crewmen, Spock! You accused me of dishonorable conduct! I understand that you’re sick, fine. But pon farr or no pon farr, you’re not returning to duty until you have complete control of yourself!"

Spock seemed unabashed.

"Pon farr? You know nothing, James Kirk. I am not sick, my time is not even close. But I did make a mistake in attempting to embrace the culture of my ancestors. To find the advantage in not controlling myself, to find the strength in emotions … I failed. I failed you and Starfleet. You shall have my resignation later today."

Resignation? Jim wanted to laugh. Spock was the best and Jim needed him. That was the simple truth.

"You may have failed or you may be sick, Spock, but you are my friend and my first officer. I need you! But most importantly…" Jim poked a finger at Spock’s heaving chest. His voice turned to cold steel. "Most importantly, I will not allow the kind of advances you made towards me under any pretenses. Is that clear?"

Spock had been standing still and small, but now he lifted his gaze from the floor. The burning fire was back. The inferno in his eyes was only a spark compared to the heat of his voice, and like a flame licking a dry branch he grabbed Jim’s arm and pulled the captain against him.

"I am, and will forever be, your friend."

Spock pressed his face even closer to Jim’s, who felt the heat radiating from Spock. Heat, and the scent he had smelled earlier. He was trapped against the Vulcan and very aware of the superior strength of his first officer.

"But I never…"

Spock squeezed Jim’s arm so hard it almost hurt. His other arm grabbed Jim’s hair and pulled the captain so close that Spock’s lips brushed the sensitive skin of Jim’s ear.

"... had any pretenses for my advances. I meant it."

Jim’s knees felt suddenly weak. A small part of his brain tried to explain it as fatigue, but he knew better. He almost fell against Spock for support and closed his eyes. Spock. So close. So warm. So safe.

"You make it more difficult for me to control my emotions than anything I have faced before," Spock whispered. The inferno in his voice had burned out, and turned into caressing tendrils of smoke. "I need you Jim. I want you. "

Wrapped in the warm embrace of the Vulcan Jim barely heard the whistle of the com system. Only after the second whistle did he recognize the voice as Uhura’s. Jim lifted his head from Spock’s chest and immediately missed the warmth. Still, he looked at Spock and with a conspiratorial grin on his face nodded towards the intercom.

With a rare but precious smile Spock hit his fist against the intercom, which fell silent with a satisfying crackle.

The Captain was busy.


End file.
